


A Hard Day's Work

by Lightbringer34



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Other, Parent Odin, Sympathetic Hela
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:01:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26293075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightbringer34/pseuds/Lightbringer34
Summary: Odin Allfather and Hela relax at the end of a hard day's work. A small snapshot of some vague point in their conquest of the Nine Realms.
Relationships: Hela & Odin (Marvel)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4





	A Hard Day's Work

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LastLadyResting](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=LastLadyResting).



> This is for LastLadyResting on Reddit, who had a very nice idea that wouldn't get out of my head. So I wrote it for them, pulling from some fond memories of my own relaxing on the front porch after yard work in Florida heat. (Brutal humidity, I don't recommend it)

The thing Odin loves most about a battle isn’t the fight itself, which is wild and furious and constantly present. Rather, he loves the silence of the aftermath, the soft flutter of Hughnin and Munin as well as dozens of other carrion crows as they cross the battlefield again and again. The pleasant-pain of tired muscles as they relax from hours of constant tension and hard usage. The way his breath comes easier, no matter the charnel smell from the funeral pyres, or the cries of the wounded. He is a king and a warrior both, those are things he has come to accept as the price of success. 

Odin sees Gondul approach, her golden-white Valkyrie armor shining even brighter for all the silver Light Elf blood that covers it, and nods at her to come closer. “Allfather, we have found those among the enemy deemed worthy enough for addition to the Eternal Flame, a mere twelve, compared to six dozen of our own fallen. Do we have your permission?“

The King of Asgard waves an accommodating hand. “Return them to our army as you see fit, Gondul. I trust the Valkyries enough to handle their own affairs.” His Captain bows, eyes downcast and she departs, sensing his desire for solitude. He moves across the battlefield at a slow but steady clip, winding his way through the bodies of Asgardian and Alfheim alike. Foolish, spindly creatures, the Light Elves, to think they could stand in the way of Asgard’s mightiest. And a shame so many of Asgard’s own had to fall in the taking.

An explosion of shattering glass and a few dark objects fly out from the side of the desecrated site and Odin smiles indulgently. As if summoned by his mere musings, a massive black wolf crawls out from the remnants of the cathedral with an enormous wooden box in its mouth. Sitting astride it is his beautiful, ferocious, wonderful daughter, Hela. She smiles in a mix of fierce pride and genuine joy at sighting her father and he beckons her forward as they converge at the steps of their prize.

Odin looks up to the crystalline architecture at the center of the battlefield, the prize he had been seeking and the site of their hardest resistance. Silver-soaked bodies cover the steps of the structure and spill across the courtyard which had once been covered in grass, now trampled under heavy boots. The sight is not entirely displeasing to the Allfather, but Elf bodies are unpleasant to sit upon, so with a gesture of his golden spear, the corpses fly away to join their fellows among the rest of the refuse.

He moves to sit with a groan, his joints beginning to protest, but the Allfather is not nearly so old that he would quit the field from infirmity. He looks up to see Hela standing at attention, her helmet and face the mask of an obedient commander. Even Fenrir, the beast destined to devour him, that she had tamed, sits obediently, green eyes looking at its mistress with adoration. “The Temple of Light is cleansed as you ordered, Milord, from the spires to the sewers. The structure is ours and we can use it to lengthen the reach of the Bifrost, to conquer ever more realms.”

Odin sighs and allows a gruff smile to cross his face, tinged with a hint of reprimand, which Hela is ever-so-sensitive to. “Dear Hela, you need not be so formal with your father. This is not the Court, so please, sit with me.”

His daughter allows herself to smile genuinely again and turns to sit only for Odin to duck sideways as the dark crown of her helmet passes over his shoulder. “Ah Dear, your helmet.”

“Oh right!” she says in a mixture of genuine realization and embarrassment, so she passes her hands over her head once more, allowing tightly compressed ebony hair to spill down her shoulders in a waterfall, along with the silver blood that had been on the helmet. Still, she has long been an expert at this, so the liquid which had crowned her in silver flew back over them both to splatter against the steps, not a drop touching either of the Asgardians. The Goddess of Death leaned back with a small sigh of satisfaction as they looked out over the battlefield, the soldiers and Valkyries moving across it, as well as the brilliant sunset beyond. “It was a good fight,” she admits with relish as Odin keeps half one eye on her and one on the horizon.

It is hard to tell which is more beautiful, though each in their own ways. The sunset is natural beauty, a painting of pastels, but his daughter is the green and black of ocean depths, her eyes full of emotion, and lips always quirked in mirth, as if she were laughing at some secret joke. Her father plays along, pursing his lips. “By your standards, that truly is impressive, then. Was the High Priest truly so mighty as the rumors said?”

“Alone, not so much, but with his fellows they were formidable indeed. Their spellwork shattered every other window in the temple, so I had Fenrir jump out the last to complete the set.”

Odin glances behind them to see the enormous wolf has curled up behind them, her belly on the blood-cooled stone, and licking at it with idle curiosity. He raises one singular eyebrow at the massive wooden box that had been carefully set beside the beast and twitches his head at it. “What fresh spoils did you find then, that required such careful transport?”

Hela looks away, so much like the guilty child she had once been that Odin laughs out loud in amusement. “Rest easy, Hela, your efforts today have far outweighed any mild harm that could come from a box. Haven’t I taught you that to the victor, go the spoils?”

“Well, I had thought to share with the troops, considering how famous the Light-wine is, but when we discovered its rarity…”

Odin is impressed. He’d been trying to expand Hela’s interests beyond that of training, battle, and conquest, and here she seems to have developed an interest in winemaking. “And how rare was the Light-wine in their Communal stocks?”

Hela’s face looks briefly regretful. “We caught several acolytes attempting to smuggle boxes of them out an escape tunnel and feared them to be explosives of some sort. In the fighting, they shattered one box, and I two more. The rest were simple decoys, common vintage.”

Her father shakes his bearded head. “A shame, to be sure, but without you there would be no wine at all, so I say you and I have earned ourselves a celebratory toast!”

Hela looks at him with surprise. “Is it not selfish to sample it before the common soldiery? Those men need the vigor it gives far more than we.” He nods in approval. She is learning the art of ruling, as well as command, the subtleties of perception. However, his tired muscles and paternal affection overrule his sound judgement, as they so often do with Hela, so he gestures for the wolf to nose the box within reach. “Ordinarily, yes, but,” he adds with a grin. ”We have to make sure it is not poisoned, and the two of us also possess the hardiest constitutions in Asgard. Better for us to poison ourselves protecting the troops than to harm them further through carelessness. “

Hela’s dark eyes sparkle with delight and she clasps her hands together as she sees his jocular manner. What he says is technically true, but it is also clearly an excuse. Odin opens the box and draws out a single bottle of shaped crystal, full of what looks like liquid light, but Hela’s shoulders slump as she sees it. “You will think me a great fool Father, but I just realized in my excitement, I neglected to bring any proper glasses for such a toast.”

The Allfather chuckles again. “Well, I am glad I can provide them, then.” He twists his hand in midair and two ivory drinking horns, carved from the bones of Thronheim’s mightiest champion, dance into existence in his grip. He pours each of them a generous amount of the shining liquid and they both sit in silence before they drink. Odin is staring into the depths of the cup, the glimmer of reflected light moving over his face, highlighting the gold of his hair and beard, now tinged with more grey than either of them would like. These conquests have taken much from him, though the returns have been even greater. Asgard secure, wealthy, and prosperous in every way. What are aches and pains to that? What are minor regrets over a shattered temple?

He shakes away the thought and takes a small sip, his daughter anxiously following his example. They both roll the liquid across their tongues, feeling the light seep into them as the alcohol tumbles its way down their throats in a pleasant accompanying burn. Both wine and light settle in their stomachs, and the Asgardians shine slightly brighter, in the dimming sun, more luminescent than normal. Hela lets out a humm of appreciation and stretches her arms above her head as the green in her armor glows emerald-rich. “Where did you say these vineyards were? I feel six hundred years younger Father!”

Odin smiles at her enthusiasm, so much a mirror and a product of his own. “A continent away, but I dare not advance on them. As honorable as Asgardian blood may be, its wetting could ruin the fields beyond even Frigga’s repair. Then these bottles might truly be the last of their kind.”

Hela looks regretful but gives the bottle a mulish look as the takes another sip, her expression involuntarily brightening as the wine invigorates her. “Would the Elves try to destroy it even now, just to spite us? The only way we can be sure the vineyard is safe is by controlling it ourselves!”

Her father shrugs, the action causing his red cape to ripple slightly on the steps behind them. “It is possible, but unlikely. The Light Elves value their history, so the wine will remain safe. It used to be one of their most valued exports and had a place, as you saw, in their religious ceremonies.” Odin sensed he was about to drift into one of his lectures on the cultures of the Realms and halted himself with a deep pull of his own drinking horn, for this was neither the time nor place. Why spoil this moment? “Ahhh.”

Hela smiled and copied him, down to the same satisfied exhalation as she drained her horn. “Ahhh.”

Odin passed her the bottle as she eagerly poured herself another glass. Light-wine was deceptively powerful stuff, but he’d seen his daughter fight a Muselpheim dragon to a standstill, she could handle a second glass. Besides, a relaxed, amiable Hela made certain conversations easier. “I don’t know if you heard,” he said feigning idle conversation, “but Heimdall brought news of both Nidavellir and Niflheim. The Dwarves wish to craft you a weapon, to celebrate both your accomplishments, and to bind our pacts ever closer.”

Hela’s eyes perked up. Weapons, especially Dwarven weapons, interested her greatly. “Like they forged Gungir for you?”

“The very same.” Odin hesitated, and she caught the movement with dark eyes. Instantly her posture became guarded. “What is it Father? Are they planning some treachery to strike us down then?”

“Nothing of the sort my dear. Merely that their prince, Snorri, was interested in meeting you. He has heard tell of your great beauty and is a fearsome warrior himself, though still clever with his hands.” She is old enough that he gives her a suggestive wink, for it is ever the prerogative of a father to embarrass his children. Given the groan that pulls itself from Hela’s throat, he has succeeded.

“Again, Father? Ullir was nice enough, but you disliked him because he wasn’t ‘refined in manner’ for Asgard.”

Odin kept his voice level. “Hela, he froze an entire wing of the palace solid, thanks to you. You’re lucky Heimdallr didn’t pluck out his own all-seeing eyes if half the rumors the ravens whisper of your meetings are true.”

His daughter makes a scandalized choking noise and blushed a furious red, made all the brighter by the flush the wine has brought to her cheeks. “I cannot believe you’re bringing that up again.” Fenrir snorts agreement with her mistress, making their cloaks, red and green, flutter and entwine in the sudden warm gust.

Odin refills his own glass, because he knows he’s going to need it. The bottle is already half empty, but neither mind. “All he wanted was to meet you, and he’s a perfectly nice lad. If you make it, _politely_ , clear you have no interest in him, I’m sure he will respect your wishes.”

The Allfather emphasizes the word “politely”, which with Hela means: No throwing swords at people. Her power makes her a terror on the battlefield and has occasionally extended to the dining table. Many times, he and Freya have been grateful she does not yet have younger brothers, for her wrath at even the most childish tricks would be terrible. His daughter looks suitably chastised and shrugs. “Alright, Father, I’ll speak with him. If the Dwarves wish to craft me a weapon, speaking with their prince is the least a Princess of Asgard can do. Now, what of Nifelheim?”

Odin leans forward and puts his elbows on his knees, the better to experience the breeze wafting across the cooling battlefield. The day had been hot, and both the wine and the dimming sun make the evening a far more pleasant prospect. “Later, dear. For now, let us simply enjoy this moment.”

She leans back into the mass of black fur behind them and humms in contentment, her free hand twining its way through her hair. “Yes, it is a good evening, is it not?”

Father and daughter are silent for some time until Hela burps, hiding it behind a hand, as she has been taught is proper for a lady, but Odin answers with a belch of his own in much greater breadth and volume. They both laugh, and even Fenrir huffs in amusement at the ways of Asgardians before Hela speaks again. “My teacher said it is unwise to drink during the heat of a day and that water, especially, is of more help at the end of a battle.”

“That is the accepted wisdom, but I am still glad we could share both this wine and this sunset together.” Odin looks over at Hela with obvious fondness and his smile warms her heart like few other things. In turn she reaches over to squeeze his shoulder, feeling the slight give where before there had only been hard muscle. “With you, Father, I treasure every moment.”

The three of them sit there a while longer in silence, finishing the still-shining bottle of Alfheim Light-wine as the sun relinquished its hold on the horizon at long last. Only when night had fully fallen did Odin lever himself to his feet with Gungir and call for the Valkiryies. “Come now Hela. There is only so much wine, and many other warriors who deserve to share it!”

So off they went, the white light of the captured bottles reflecting off the green and red of flowing capes, moving through the campfires to hails and good cheer. The empty bloodstained cathedral remained, a silent witness.

**Author's Note:**

> I added a few Norse Mythology in-jokes here because I'm incapable of not doing research for even the smallest piece of fluff. Ullir is possibly Hela's actual love in the Poetic Edda, but accounts differ and there's some vagueness. Nifilheim is part of what would become Hel's realm in the mythology, and presumably where Odin will one day decide to exile her. But here, he was going to offer it to her as a "practice kingdom" to build and rule, only for that not to go so well. The Dwarf Prince mentioned isn't actually real, he's one of the authors of the Poetic Edda, so I wanted to use the name in some fashion. We say the Dark Elves in the MCU, I don't think we ever saw the Light Elves though.


End file.
